


Closer to flying

by Odsbodkins



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odsbodkins/pseuds/Odsbodkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam Wilson had thought he had excellent gaydar. The sort of neighborhood he grew up in, then the military, a near-flawless gaydar was a survival essential. </p>
<p>He was going to have to revise it to “has excellent gaydar <em>in person</em>”. Because he had never had the slightest inkling that Captain America might be gay."</p>
<p>A quick fic to help increase the amount of Steve/Sam fic there is here. </p>
<p>**Winter Soldier Spoilers from beginning to end**</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer to flying

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed - please tell me if you notice anything that needs correcting. I added in some extra time so Steve and Sam could have a night together, but otherwise this is intended to be entirely compliant with the movie - but I've only seen it once, so again, if there's anything easily corrected I will do.

Sam Wilson had thought he had excellent gaydar. The sort of neighborhood he grew up in, then the military, a near-flawless gaydar was a survival essential.

He was going to have to revise it to “has excellent gaydar _in person_ ”. Because he had never had the slightest inkling that Captain America might be gay. Right up to the point that he met the guy. The first time he was lapped his gaydar pinged so hard it practically exploded, but he put that down to wishful thinking.

But no, his gaydar kept on pinging with every lap. It had almost never let him down before, so there was no reason to think it was wrong now.

And then Captain America, sorry, Steve Rogers, he’d introduced himself, stopped for a little chat.

It was definitely wishful thinking to imagine the guy was flirting with him.

Sam was flirting though. Steve was stupidly hot, and not just that, he oozed being a good guy, one of those rare guys who was good through and through. So Sam couldn’t help but flirt.

When Steve caught up with him at the VA, the guy suggested they go out for coffee. That didn’t mean he was flirting. Steve was probably lonely. Wanted someone to talk to.

They had coffee. Conversation was easy; the technology of war had changed, and they’d been in very different places, but there was a lot of shared experience beyond that. And the way Steve smiled when Sam mentioned chorus girls - the guy was kind of a dork, but kind of adorable with it.

Then it was dinnertime, and Sam just had to take Steve to an Italian place that he knew Steve would love. Steve did love it, supersoldier appetite and all, and it took Steve and Sam fifteen minutes of arguing to get the owners to let them pay rather than feed Captain America on the house.

They walked out together.

“Does that happen often?”

Steve smiled. “Putting away Captain America sized portions makes it more obvious who I am.”

“But you always pay.”

“The government pays me very well to do what I do. People don’t owe me anything.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? The shit you’ve been through, you still think that?”

“You think they offer every vet free pizza? You know there’s men who’ve walked through worse than me, and they don’t get any special treatment.”

Sam was pretty certain that losing seventy years, so that almost everyone you’d ever know was dead, was worse than any other vet had gone through. He was also certain that Steve would never, ever admit that, and he didn’t want to ruin a lovely evening with an argument.

Steve obviously didn’t want to dwell on the subject either, and said, “You really have eight bird boxes outside your house?”

“If you count the ones across the street as well. You want to see?” Steve nodded. “Some of the pairs come back every year-“ Sam could ramble about birds for hours, but always kept an eye on his audience for signs of boredom (anything from yawning to just up and walking out of the room). Steve looked interested, and Sam’s guess was that he genuinely was interested in anything that someone was enthusiastic about.

Steve probably had been flirting all along. That would explain why, as soon as the door was shut, Steve pressed him against it, kissed him senseless, and then proceeded to get down on his knees and give Sam the best blow job he’d had in a year.

While Sam was still trying to get his breath back, and not drop onto the floor because he didn’t think his knees could hold him up any more, Steve smiled up at him and said, “I haven’t taken a guy to bed in seventy years. You’re gonna have to tell me if the rules have changed.”

Shit, he should have some sort of comeback to that, but all he could say was, “Doing well so far.” Fuck, Captain fucking America had just blown him and was still kneeling in front of him, obviously hard as a rock in his pants asking him for twenty-first century gay sex etiquette. Sam was pretty sure he only had three brain cells left after that blow job, and was trying to get them all working together and, fuck, Steve was grinning like he knew he’d just sucked Sam’s ability to think right out of his dick. “Bed would be good.”

Steve knew what he was doing. Seemed that as far as sex was concerned, not that much had changed in over half a century. But then again, there were a limited number of ways that human beings fitted together.

Apart from one thing- “Condom-”

Steve shrugged. “If you want. Don’t think you’re going to give me anything, and I don’t think you’re going to catch anything from me.”

“Sure you’re not some STD Typhoid Mary?”

Steve laughed. “Didn’t nail enough guys after the serum to find out.”

There had been, when Sam was young, a horrifying video of the effects of STDs shown in his school. He’d had nightmares. In retrospect, he was sure at least a couple of the pictures were from zombie movies rather than medical textbooks, but it had crashed into his developing sexuality at a very formative moment. He’d had unprotected sex precisely once in his life, and had been so drunk at the time he couldn’t really remember it (and the nightmares about that video had come back with a vengeance, even after he’d been tested for every STD on the planet and come up clean).

But he was sure Steve was right. If the serum cured everything he’d had before, why would it let him get an STD afterwards?

Unfortunately, the thought “fuck, I’m barebacking Captain America” intruded into his head just at the point that he‘d pushed his dick entirely inside Steve, making him stop and stifle a laugh.

Steve poked him in the forehead. “Mind on the job, soldier.”

Sam did laugh. “You are not making this any easier, _Captain_.”

Steve grinned. “If it’s gonna be like that, shouldn’t I be on top?”

“You don’t outrank me.” He moved, just a twist of the hips really, but Steve pushed back, moved with it, and any further conversation was forgotten.

If he’d ever had reason to think about it, he would certainly have Steve pegged as a post-coital cuddler, so that wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise was how all-enveloping the hug was, big arms around him as Steve kissed his shoulder. It was a nice way to drift off to sleep.

Sam absolutely would not admit to the sharp pang of disappointment he felt when he woke up and his bed was empty (though it had been a good night to sleep through to morning, and he wondered if that was coincidence or if the security of those arms had anything to do with it). Then he registered the smell of frying bacon.

He pulled on some sweatpants and headed for the kitchen, where he found Steve frying bacon in one pan, and cooking pancakes in another.

“I was making pancakes with bacon and maple syrup, but there’s spare eggs if you’d prefer-”

Sam perched on a stool by the breakfast bar, raised an eyebrow and said, “Did I say you could stay for breakfast?”

Steve grinned. “You can’t kick out a guy who’s just made you pancakes.”

Sam sniffed. “Depends on how good the pancakes are.”

The pancakes were very good. In between mouthfuls, Steve explained that he’d never had much time for cooking when he was younger, money being tight enough that food tended to end up in amorphous soups and stews to make it go further, so he was teaching himself now. “I think I’ve got pancakes, but my lasagne needs work.”

“I was going to ask if you needed someone to help you eat it, but you don’t need anyone’s help-”

“First you object to me staying for breakfast, now you’re inviting yourself round for dinner?”

“These are damn good pancakes.”

Steve laughed, and Sam could stand to see that more often. Which was enough excuse for wrestling him away from the washing up and back to bed.

Rounds two to four in bed were even better than round one. Certainly beat Sam’s original plan for his day off, which had centred around getting some laundry done, getting out to see the birds, a run, and possibly a nap.

He could keep up with Steve in bed about as well as he could keep up when they were running, which was not at all. He felt like he’d melted into the mattress, and he thought it was possible that his bones had all turned to jell-o. A supersoldier could do that, right?

Steve was smiling, lying on his side, one hand resting on Sam’s stomach. Steve was, unbelievably, more than half-hard again. Sam summoned up the last of his energy to wrap his hand around Steve’s dick, but Steve pulled his hand away.

“You don’t need to.”

Sam managed a lopsided grin. “Sure it’s unpatriotic to leave you hanging.”

“I can take care of that.”

“Can I watch?”

Steve wrapped a hand around his own dick and said, “You sure you’re up to watching?”

“I will make you pay for that. Probably sometime next week.”

Steve chuckled, and carried on jerking himself off, and that, right there, was his fantasies for the rest of his left pretty much sorted out. Steve came quietly, like the last... how many times had the guy come today?

Steve had told him he’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, and Sam guessed that paper-thin walls probably hadn’t changed much in the last seventy years.

“Are you just going to keep going?”

Steve leaned over and kissed him. “Probably not, but in bed with a guy this hot, I don’t know…”

“You need to work on your moves.”

Steve grinned. “Worked on you.”

“You did mention a seventy year dry spell before that-”

“I could have. But I didn’t want to. I- I can’t imagine sleeping with someone I wouldn’t want to get to know better.” He looked up through his lashes, and that had to be a move that Steve had practiced. Those baby blues were practically weaponized. “Someone I’d take to the movies.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“You invited yourself over for lasagne.”

“That sounded like an endurance test, not a date.”

“Okay then. Sam Wilson, will you go on a date with me?”

“Someplace classy.”

“Of course. Gotta show my best guy a swell time.”

Sam groaned, and Steve laughed.

\---

He didn’t get a classy date. He got Steve turning up on his doorstep with a redhead, bruised and battered and a wanted man. He didn’t know what the redhead was to Steve, so he bit back a comment about Steve liking his breakfasts.

Suddenly he was back in the middle of firefights, but this time in DC, with war in the streets a bus ride from home. He’d had nightmares about bringing the war back home with him, but this was stranger than any of his nightmares.

Steve’s expression when they were tied up in the back of the SHIELD van told him everything he needed to know about Steve and Bucky, but still, the next time they were alone, he had to ask.

“You and Bucky-”

“Yeah. We were. It doesn’t change-”

“Didn’t say it changed anything. I just wanted to know.”

Steve looked at him, “Your wingman-”

“Nah, straight as an arrow. He knew.” Sam paused. “You know you might have to-”

“I know. If- If either you or Natasha have to… stop him. I... I need to save him. But I know this is bigger than what I want.”

There was no possible answer to that, so Sam stepped closer, took Steve’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re not on your own. And it’s not just me. You remember that before you go doing something completely stupid, yeah?”

Steve smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

\---

The thing about sitting by someone’s hospital bed was that it gave you time to think.

Think about the fact that the time when he’d thought that Steve had gone down with the helicarrier had been almost as bad as losing his wingman. Think about the fact that he had got it bad for a man who was very obviously still in love with his ex. An ex who had nearly managed to kill Sam, Steve and half of DC, then (looking at the footprints leading from where they’d found Steve) had a change of heart, rescued Steve and vanished.

It was certainly more interesting than falling for a straight guy.

He had the feeling that if he let it, his life was going to keep on being interesting. Dangerous, but interesting.

Steve woke up, looked over to the iPod, then at Sam. “I still owe you lasagne.”

“After this, it better be good.”

“It’s...” This time his smile was weak, but went all the way to his eyes. “It’s completely inedible. Buy you pizza?”

“Yeah, I think that nearly getting killed is completely compensated for by pizza.”

He didn’t ask what Steve intended to do. He also didn’t ask about what was going on between them now that Bucky Barnes was apparently alive and kicking.

It took a long time to get Steve out of the hospital. He’d been injured bad enough that any other guy would be dead, but he healed at an amazing rate. The doctors couldn’t quite accept this, and kept looking at him like he was somehow faking being well. Steve was basically fit to leave the afternoon he woke up, but it took two days to convince the doctors that if they let him go he wasn’t going to drop dead at the front entrance.

They went to a graveyard to talk to a dead guy. After the past few days, it seemed appropriate.

Of course Steve was going looking for Bucky. Like the guy was even capable of doing anything else.

“I asked you out on a date.”

“That was before-”

“I know. I- I- meant it.” He sighed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Sam bumped shoulders with Steve. “We find your man. _Then_ we work out what the hell we’re doing.”


End file.
